


Blow out a Candle

by zenonaa



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: F/M, Naegi Makoto - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenonaa/pseuds/zenonaa
Summary: When she’s two years old, Komaru plops down by the fireplace and cuddles the family dog. Three years later, a balding man jumps onto a train track. Meat pie filling explodes out of him. Komaru doesn’t understand why people are screaming. The man’s fine. She sees him embark calmly afterwards, intact and in one piece. When she’s seven, Makoto says that dog died ages ago so she couldn’t have taken him for a walk that morning, and she realises she can see ghosts. A year later, Baba visits Komaru for the first time, and they talk while Baba supervises her in the garden. That same day, Komaru realises she can communicate with ghosts too.





	Blow out a Candle

“Is Kameko here?” Komaru asks loudly. “My friend, Touko-chan, wants to see you.”

Touko winces and hunches her shoulders. Her eyes dart around and she squeezes Komaru’s hands tighter. Which is saying something, because she was holding them firmly before.

Different colour crystals hang from the ceiling. Light segments their faces in the dimmed room. It used to a single unit bathroom in Hope’s Peak. It lacks plumbing now, and Komaru put a tablecloth over the toilet and did the room up nice with candles, crystals and various bits and bobs that she scavenged from around the school grounds.

On the tablecloth covering the toilet, between Komaru and Touko, lies Kameko, motionless. For a moment, nothing happens, but then brown smudges burrow out of Kameko, each like ink on paper that had been soaked with rain. They skitter across the tablecloth aimlessly, occasionally pausing, regularly changing direction. Komaru squeaks and jerks up her hands, and by extension, Touko’s arms rise too.

“There are a lot of them,” says Komaru. Even though she lived through a period where seeing corpses on a daily basis had been the norm, she cringes at the insects scurrying about. She lets go of Touko’s hands and while Komaru’s stay elevated, Touko’s return to the table, and Komaru watches the stink bugs gather around Touko and climb up Touko’s arms. 

Touko’s blouse doesn’t shift at all as they wiggle up her. 

“Wow, they’re all over you,” says Komaru, forcing a grin.

All of them had been Kameko at some point. A squeal of delight wheezes out of Touko, despite how she can neither see nor feel them, and Touko peers down at her arms excitedly. Komaru scratches her chin with a bemused smile.

“Is there anyone else you want me to find for you?” asks Komaru.

Like family? Touko glances at her. Her smile slips and she doesn’t answer right away.

“No,” says Touko, because she wouldn’t need to, not when she sees who she considers family everyday, and Komaru nods.

* * *

 

When she’s two years old, Komaru plops down by the fireplace and cuddles the family dog.

Three years later, a balding man jumps onto a train track. Meat pie filling explodes out of him. Komaru doesn’t understand why people are screaming. The man’s fine. She sees him embark calmly afterwards, intact and in one piece.

When she’s seven, Makoto says that dog died ages ago so she couldn’t have taken him for a walk that morning, and she realises she can see ghosts.

A year later, Baba visits Komaru for the first time, and they talk while Baba supervises her in the garden. That same day, Komaru realises she can communicate with ghosts too.

* * *

 

Komaru stretches her arms in a wide arch, starting straight above her and then lowering her arms either side of her, walking toward the apartment block that she and her friends live in. At this time in the late evening, darkness has painted over many of its features, leaving it a silhouette. When the part-school, part-orphanage opens officially, the teachers will all stay there unless they choose to live off campus. The world isn’t so bad anymore, so maybe some will.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. It belts out the opening theme for a thirty year old anime. She fishes it out of her puffer jacket’s pocket, reads the name on the screen and accepts the call.

“Hello, Aoi-chan?” asks Komaru.

“Hey... um... this is going to... can we talk?” says Aoi, slow as if distracted.

“Sure?” says Komaru. Her brow furrows.

“Touko-chan says you can talk to ghosts,” Aoi elaborates with little to no inflection in her tone. “Is that true?”

“Uh huh,” goes Komaru. Her puffer jacket keeps her arms warm, but her skirt leaves much of her legs chilled.

“Then... can you tell... can you tell Yuta something for me?” says Aoi, mumbling by the end.

Komaru blinks, then smiles, even if she isn’t in a smiley mood anymore. She feels like glass becoming clouded with condensation. “Meet me on the first floor of the North Building in five minutes. Bring something that used to belong to him, or something that will invoke a strong memory.”

When Komaru enters the building a little later, she finds Aoi already in the lobby, pacing. Komaru leads Aoi to the former bathroom and once the pair are both inside, Komaru lights some incense and candles and they kneel opposite each other, the toilet between them. Yasuhiro gave her the incense and crystals. His mother, Hiroko, gave her the candles.

“This place is nice, for a bathroom,” remarks Aoi, wringing her hands. She spends more time looking at the scenery than at Komaru, who pouts but reigns her lips into order again quickly.

“Did you bring what I asked?” asks Komaru, and Aoi holds up her wrist, showing off a gaudy coloured friendship bracelet.

“Yuta gave this to me when we were little. I usually wear it around my ankle as a good luck charm... still do.” 

Aoi wiggles it off and passes it to Komaru, who sets it between them. Komaru takes Aoi’s hands, which grip Komaru with a snug hold, and wait. 

They don’t wait long. Soon, a figure appears behind Aoi, a silhouette faintly glowing, and Komaru’s breathing hitches. Her shoulders jump, and opposite, Aoi widens her eyes.

“What is it? Is he there?” asks Aoi, and Komaru nods. Aoi’s head whips around, but to her and most other people, there’s just empty space.

She continues staring there, trying to convince herself that shadows are him, but Aoi has to resign to the fact that she can’t see him and eventually aligns her head forward again.

“Is he... in one piece?” asks Aoi

Komaru narrows her eyes, confused, but then realises. Realises, because she could never forget. Her features smooth over. “He’s not... He isn’t distinct, but he’s in one piece, yeah.”

“Can he hear me?” asks Aoi.

“He should be able to,” says Komaru. “You won’t be able to hear him though, but I can translate. What do you want to tell him?”

Aoi’s brow creases. Her lips cooperate, but her vocal chords don’t. She stops mouthing and tries to talk again, and she has to push the words out. They try to cling to her lips on their way out and scratch her skin, scratch her voice. Teeth scrape her lips. Nearly bite her tongue.

“Then... can you tell him...? I... I’m sorry.” Because they’re holding hands, Aoi can’t dry her eyes, and she breathes with a rasp. Sobs disrupt syllables. “... Today should have been his birthday. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, or be there in his last moments...”

Tears erupt more heavily from Aoi’s eyes and Aoi tries to rub the tears away with her shoulder. Komaru bites her lip, then shivers. When ghosts communicate to her, they don’t speak in a language she knows. They sound distant and echoey and chills crawl under her skin, tingling in the back of her neck. Though the voices are muffled and speak nonsense, she knows what they’re saying, clear as the ring of a glass being tapped with a spoon.

“He says... He says it was over quickly. He doesn’t remember any pain.” Komaru tenses. She met him. Yuta. And saw him explode too, when he tried to swim to safety. A shiver shakes her, and she can’t wipe her eyes either. “He says he was lost, but then he found your mother and father... and a woman called Oogami-san?”

“Sakura-chan!” Aoi gasps. She clenches Komaru’s hands with strength that would linger and be sore for Komaru for hours afterwards, but it’s nothing compared to her heart. “She’s with him?”

“Yeah. He says sometimes, when you can’t sleep without hugging Oogami-san’s blouse worn by a pillow, Sakura-chan appears and strokes your cheek until you drift off. And...” Komaru blinks. The world blurs behind tears. She lifts her chin. “He says... He says... he’s sorry for hurting you...”

“It’s not his fault,” says Aoi. Her eyes bulge. “I love him. Tell him I love him. I love you, Yuta!”

“He can hear you... and he loves you too,” says Komaru.

Aoi howls and releases Komaru’s hands. She lurches forward and embraces Komaru in a tight hug. Yuta seems to watch for a few seconds before dissolving into the same darkness that anyone in the room could see, but he might just have been hidden behind all their tears.

* * *

 

A bang breaks Komaru’s concentration. Her heart pounds as she looks up from the manga inside the dust jacket of the physics book that Touko assigned her to read.

Yasuhiro’s grinning face beams down at Komaru. Sneaking up with big hair like that is a feat, but in Komaru’s defence, the action in the manga had been escalating quickly in a whirlwind of paper.

“Hiya, Komaru-chi,” greets Yasuhiro. He raises the hand that he just slammed down onto the table in front of her and waves. “Asahina-chi told me that you’ve been communicating with the dead lately.”

“Y-Yeah,” says Komaru. After Yasuhiro had announced his arrival and she had seen who it was, she had sank into her cushioned chair. She sits up now. Her heart hasn’t stopped racing yet.

From what she knows about Yasuhiro, due to first hand experience and secondhand accounts, he shouldn’t seem so pleased about her unusual ability. If they had been in a manga or a piece of fanfiction, then it might have been nothing out of the ordinary, but as far as she knows, this isn’t the case here.

“You’ve got a little room where you do seances. I was wondering if I could pop in and see you at work,” says Yasuhiro.

Word spreads fast as Aoi can run, apparently.

“Um... Sure,” says Komaru. She scratches her cheek. “If you could bring something that used to belong to the person that died... or something that will invoke a strong memory... then we can talk to them.”

Yasuhiro nods. “Can do, Komaru-chi!” He gives a thumb up. “It’s not the most original of premises, but it could work, ‘right? I’ll meet you in your special room in half an hour.”

As he swaggers off, he whistles, his hands in his pockets, and Komaru tilts her head to one side, puzzled.

She puts the cover back on the physics book and retires into the toilet room. To pass time, she reads more of the manga, and jumps when a tune is rapped onto the door. ‘Shave and a haircut, two bits’. That sort of tune.

“Come in,” pipes up Komaru as she casts her manga aside, and the door opens. Yasuhiro pops his head in and after he meets Komaru’s gaze, the rest of his body slips inside.

He shuts the door behind him and looks around. A low whistle breezes through his lips.

“This isn’t too shabby, Komaru-chi!” announces Yasuhiro with a wide grin, fists pressed against his hips, chest puffed out. “No crystal ball though. I can sell you one, if you want.”

“Thanks,” says Komaru, not sure what else to say to that. “I’ll, um, keep it in mind. So do you have what I asked you for?”

“You betcha,” he says, and he gives a salute before reaching into a trouser pocket. He extracts a small piece of yellowing paper and holds it out to her.

Komaru presents her hand, palm facing upward, and Yasuhiro places the piece of paper there. On closer inspection, she learns that it’s a ticket stub.

“You said something that makes a strong memory would work, ‘right? I took a train to meet my old man, and I had to hitchhike back home,” says Yasuhiro. Other than a slight grimace, he doesn’t seen too affected, but when he realises, he slaps on a smile.

She nods, stands up, sets the ticket stub down on the toilet and then kneels by it. 

“Could you sit opposite me and hold my hands, Hagakure-san?” she asks politely. Full of professionalism.

Yasuhiro does so. His hold isn’t particularly hard, but she wouldn’t call it limp. His hands are a bit rougher than she remembers Aoi’s to be.

“Should I close my eyes too?” he asks.

“You don’t have to,” she says.

She hesitates. 

“Hagakure-san, have you ever seen a ghost before?” she asks.

“I’ve done seances,” he replies, not exactly answering her question. “So you don’t use a ouija board or anything, Komaru-chi?”

“You mean like the Nintendo character?” Her shoulders curl. “Um, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to comment on franchises from other companies.”

“No, like a flat board with letters of the alphabet!” Yasuhiro laughs. Komaru decides to smile. He can’t gesture with his hands because he has to hold hers, so he hikes a shoulder briefly and twitches his head. “It used to be a family fun board game, until people started using it to talk to the dead. You should toss it in. People love them.”

She doesn’t reply. Yasuhiro squints at her. His expression sobers.

“Now... Komaru-chi,” he leans in, “let me ask... how much are you charging for your services, usually?”

A beat passes. Komaru blinks. “Nothing.”

He straightens. His eyebrows arch.

“Seriously?” Yasuhiro huffs. “If you offer your services for free, then I’m out of business!”

“This isn’t a business, it’s...” She feels a chill and stops abruptly. He furrows his brow but Komaru ignores him, staring past him, where a shadow cast by nothing looms over his shoulder. “I... I think they’re here.”

“Whoa, that’s one convincing face,” he says.

“What? No, I mean it... He’s right behind you. Can’t you see him?”

Yasuhiro twists around. “Nope.”

He turns back. His grin seems like a smirk. 

“So, Komaru-chi, what does this... ghost, have to say?” he asks.

Komaru breathes shakily and waits. The shadowy figure ties a knot in her stomach. Candle light blurs around her, clouded orbs. She knows that it’s Yasuhiro’s father.

“H-Hey, you’re really committed to this,” Yasuhiro says. When she looks at him, he’s no longer smiling. “For such an easy to read gal, you can really act!”

Now the penny drops. It strikes the bottom of her gut and becomes embedded in the mess there.

“This isn’t acting!” she says, trembling. “I can really talk to ghosts!”

“Come on, now, Komaru-chi. Ghosts aren’t actually real,” he says, uneasy.

“You do seances!”

“But not with real ghosts! It’s all an act, ‘right?”

She stares. The cold clutches her body and she does her best to not let her teeth chatter. If she could, she would hug herself, but she keeps hold of Yasuhiro’s hands. His father sends shivers through her, but opposite her, Yasuhiro remains ignorant, surveying the room.

“Hagakure-san... your dad... do you want to ask him anything?” she says.

His eyes stop darting about and fix on her. The sensations get stronger and she grasps Yasuhiro’s hands harder.

“He says...” She wets her lips. Hard to do with a dry, dry mouth. “Oh, it’s not...”

“What?”

“It’s not... great.”

Yasuhiro pulls a face. “Hey, you’re too young to be mocking me! We haven’t even had a free time event together yet.”

“He...” Komaru squares her shoulders. “He says... he never asked you to come.”

He tenses. Hard. It’s like a crack splits his face.

“He told you a hundred times that he doesn’t care about you. He says you were, are, an idiot. That... That you were never his son, just a bunch of cells that he wishes had been aborted.” Her mind catches up to her mouth and she stops herself, but Yasuhiro’s father eggs her on, or dare she say forces her to continue, like icy fingers open and close her mouth. “Why couldn’t you take the hint? I don’t give a shit about you. No one asked your dumb arse to turn up in the middle of the night with just the clothes on your back, and embarrass me in front of my girlfriend...”

The pressure on her jaw fades. An ache remains though, one that would have left red marks if real hands had been manipulating her mouth, and she still feels enclosed in ice. She winces and forces herself to train her eyes on Yasuhiro.

“I’m sorry, Hagakure-san,” she says and when she shifts in her seat, he recoils and she has to grip his hands very hard so they stay connected. He drags her someway over the toilet.

“Oh, God, Zeus, Supreme Kai, zenonaa and Kodaka,” says Yasuhiro, looking ready to faint.

Komaru tries to swallow. First time, she fails, and second time, it kind of hurts. She straightens up and sits back. “It’s okay, as far as I know, they can’t hurt you...”

He widens his eyes at her, like she’s the ghost. Fair, because she had just been possessed. Sort of. More like she had been used as a microphone.

“They definitely can’t hurt you,” she says with more authority, but her voice has tremors. She squeezes his hands. “Hagakure-san, I’m sorry... Your dad, he sounds...”

Yasuhiro tilts his head forward, hiding his face momentarily. Violin noises screech between her ears. Then he jerks his head back and bursts out laughing. Komaru flinches.

“Hagakure-san?” she says.

“Ghosts are real!” he says. “Who’d have thought! Well, guess what, Dad? I’m the one who’s alive, so who’s the real winner?”

Laughing more, Yasuhiro pulls one hand away from Komaru, and he lifts a middle finger. The shadowy figure starts to fade, and with more barks of amusement, Yasuhiro brandishes his other hand, same finger up, and his father’s ghost extinguishes like a pinched wick.

“Who’s laughing now?” says Yasuhiro, eyes shining like candlelight.

His laughter rings in Komaru’s head for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

Komaru places a candle in a soap dish on the sink. Its flame is the size of a fingernail, like the other candles around her, and they paw at the air. In the dark room, they remind Komaru of a starry sky. She turns around and kneels by the toilet, biting her lip at the sight of the photograph facing up on it.

Someone knocks. Komaru jolts a little and lifts her head.

“Who is it?” she calls out.

The door opens. To her surprise, it’s Byakuya.

“Togami-san?” she says, eyebrows raised. She picks up the photograph, holding it by her side, and stands up. “Do you need me for something?”

He leers at her. Not the sort of leering that her middle school teacher used to do before he stopped teaching one day out of the blue, but the leer that one might give the sole of their shoe after stepping in something that a dog left behind. Candles provide lighting in the room and cast eerie shadows across his face.

“I hear that you’ve been communicating with the dead,” says Byakuya.

“Y-Yeah,” she says. Byakuya clicks his tongue.

“Well, you’re to stop with your little game,” he tells her.

“Game?” Komaru blinks. She remembers Yasuhiro’s session. “It’s not a game, Togami-san. Ever since I was little...”

“... you’ve been able to see ghosts. Yes, I’m aware of your claim. Fukawa told me, and Hagakure and Asahina have been spreading assertions of that nature.”

Byakuya turns his head slightly to the side, looking at nothing in particular. He folds his arms over his chest and pushes up his glasses.

“I know how it works. You’ve set yourself up a backstory, and you’re telling them what they want to hear. You know those television shows where the host claims to be able to communicate with deceased people that audience members know? It’s a scam. You begin by saying that you’re receiving a name from the other side. It could be an audience member. It could be the deceased. Start with a letter. M? Then you feel around. Makoto? Miki? You will stumble upon the right name sooner or later, and an audience member will respond. Then you go on what the audience member seems like, but usually, they’ll say who the person was in relation to them. If they don’t, you can work it out. Elderly woman? Most likely lost a husband. They knew each other most of their lives. Young woman? Family. The death was untimely. They’ll say who at this point.”

He throws a glare at her. Komaru shrinks back a bit, hovering a hand in front of her while her other hand dangles by her side, holding the photograph.

“You profile them,” he carries on. “You could say, ‘they want to say... something about our secret place?’ and the audience member fills in the rest for you. Rinse and repeat. You tell people what they want to hear. You support their delusions.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Komaru says. Her outstretched hand veers to her chest and she positions a fist over her heart. “I can prove it to you, if you let me.”

“I’m a very busy man, and you should be a very busy girl, you know,” he says coldly.

She wants to stamp a foot, but she doesn’t, and sticks out her chin.

“If it turns out that I can’t talk to ghosts, then I’ll stop,” she promises in a level voice that’s slightly deeper than her usual tone.

Byakuya eyes her. 

“All right,” he says, restraining a sigh. He doesn’t stop his eyes flickering in a quick roll though. “I suppose if that’s the only way to make you cease your nonsense...”

Komaru nods energetically. Byakuya pinches his brow. She puts her hands on her hips.

“Okay, I’ll need something that belonged to the person that you wish to summon, or something that will evoke strong memories,” she says.

His lips press, probably as he tries to figure out the psychology behind what she’s asking or something like that, and judging by how his face doesn’t lighten, he can’t work out her angle. Still, he doubts her, that much is written in the lines on his face, but he reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and draws out a pocket watch. 

“I won’t tell you who it used to belong to,” he says. “But it should be simple for you to work out. Don’t break it.”

“That’s fine. And I won’t,” she promises. She gestures to the toilet seat. “Please place it here. I’m going to light some more candles.”

“How cliché,” he drawls, but he does what she says. He flares his nostrils at the toilet. 

Even with the tablecloth on top of it, it’s clear what it is, and even though the lid is shut, the cloth is clean and no one has used the toilet for its original purpose in a long time, he regards it with disdain. Komaru sets her photograph down in a corner of the room for later. She lights a few candles and kneels by the toilet. Some candles are on the sink, some scatter the floor and others rest on cardboard boxes.

“Sit, please,” she says.

Byakuya hesitates, then settles opposite her. Komaru brings her hands forward and when he doesn’t move, she clears her throat and jiggles them.

He scowls.

“Are you serious?” he asks.

“Hold them!” she says. Byakuya heaves a sigh.

Komaru reaches forward and grips his hands, which rest passively in her grip, and shuts her eyes. She waits.

And waits.

And waits.

“Well?” says Byakuya.

She opens her eyes a crack.

“I don’t get it,” mumbles Komaru. “Why...?”

A chill shoots down her.

There it is. Just a delay.

“Who’s there?” she asks loudly, looking around. 

He has his lips pursed and he doesn’t bother trying to follow her gaze. Her eyes drift up to the shadowy figure towering over him from behind. A cold flutter rushes through her.

“... Kijou Togami?” says Komaru. “Is he...? Are you...? He says he’s your father.” 

She lets the shivers ride across her arms and legs. Byakuya shifts but doesn’t remove his hands from hers. One end of his lips pinch.

“At least, it was his sperm that made you,” she says and Byakuya stares at her. Komaru judges the tingling in her skin and words appear in her head. “Um... he says that he’s not surprised that you survived. You are a Togami, after all.”

“That’s what you think he’d open with?” Byakuya scoffs. “You’re wasting my time. This proves nothing.”

Komaru squirms.

“Your dad wonders if you thought he’d start with ‘hi’. You weren’t friends, and that’s not his style, and...”

Byakuya seethes. “You’re making a mockery of the Togami name.”

She straightens, feeling her arms wobble.

“He calls you a Togami, but really, you’ve become less of a Togami, and... not just because the conglomerate perished. You’ve been opening up your heart,” she relays, receiving a fiery cold look. “Yet... And yet you survived, and he didn’t.”

“You’re just reiterating what you said previously,” snaps Byakuya. The spark in his eyes could start a fire. “I knew you were a fraud...”

“I’m not!” she says loudly, and she holds onto his hands tightly in case he tries to leave. Invisible fingers patter up and down her arms and hands press coolly against her face. “Ask him something that only he would know!”

Byakuya opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“It’s because... you barely knew him, right?” she says. “Before you became the sole heir... you had only met him a few times. He doesn’t remember any of the times he met you pre-competition. His son... his one son... child... could have been so many other different people.”

He clenches his jaw. “Naegi told you that.”

“You weren’t supposed to be in the final round. Well, you were, but your place was taken by someone who offered your dad a kudan,” says Komaru. She has Byakuya’s full attention, and has never seen his eyes so wide before. “Besides, you weren’t going to win, so he wasn’t missing out omitting you, and it’s one of the few mistakes he ever made. You snuck there in disguise, and when everyone died, he let you be the winner. You showed a determination and underhandedness that a true Togami has.”

His lips part.

“You...” Byakuya trails off.

“Those were his words, right?” she asks. 

He doesn’t blink and though he faces her, and his gaze lands on her, he doesn’t seem to be seeing anything. Eventually, he turns around, looking where Komaru can see the ghost of Byakuya’s father, but he sees nothing, and he faces Komaru again.

“Sometimes... he comes and sees you... he says - ” Komaru’s breathing hitches and she blurts, “Huh? You and Touko-chan...? You kissed Touko-chan?”

From what she knows of Byakuya, and she knows a lot about him from Touko, some of it admittedly questionable, he didn’t go beyond a handshake with people.

Or beyond holding hands in order to communicate with the dead. She can feel him shaking slightly.

“What’s going on?” demands Komaru, heating up for the first time this session. Even if only briefly. “When was this?”

Normally, she would tease him as much was wise with someone like him, and be confused but elated. Coldness cloaks her again and numbs where emotions should bubble. This isn’t the time or place. For someone like Kijou, this sort of thing doesn’t have a time or place at all.

Byakuya doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. Someone else can for him.

“A week ago... in the archives...?” she says. “You held his pocket watch in one hand.”

She tries to imagine it, and the prickling in her arms helps sway her mind in the right direction. They’re the only two people there, Touko has a folder in her arms and Byakuya studies his pocket watch. He thinks about how he was raised, what his family would say if they were still alive, and a decision claps like thunder in his head. His other hand grabs her shoulder as he leans in, and Touko doesn’t move.

“I told Fukawa not to tell anyone!” says Byakuya, but that doesn’t explain how Komaru knows about the finer details of the competition, its final round and what his father had said to him. He stares at her, drained pale. “How... How do you know all this?”

“Your dad told me,” says Komaru simply. Byakuya looks like someone poured cold water on him. “Now do you believe me?”

“He’s dead,” says Byakuya. He raises his voice. “He can’t do anything. Dead people just give nutrients to the gr-”

All the candles in the room go out. At the same time, Komaru’s stomach drops.

“You’ve changed. You’ve adapted,” Komaru says on Kijou’s behalf. “He thinks... it’s revolting... weak... but maybe... maybe he is wrong about this too. Maybe this is what the world needs.”

“My father... would never admit to being wrong...”

Byakuya sounds like he’s talking through gritted teeth.

“You can learn a lot after you die,” she says quietly.

She feels him shaking and thinks he’s thankful that the candles went out.

* * *

 

Three knocks thud on the door. Komaru wants to install a bead door curtain, and she did fill in a request form and leave it on Byakuya’s desk, but she hasn’t seen much of him since their seance. She closes her magazine, rises off the out-of-order toilet and crosses the short distance between it and the door.

When she sees who is there, her grin widens.

“Good morning, Kyouko-chan,” she says brightly, especially for someone about to communicate with the dead. “Shall we get started?”

Kyouko nods and follows her into the room. As Kyouko walks in, she looks around, taking in the room’s interior. The pre lit candles are all wax white, incense burns that Yasuhiro claimed to include acacia and sandalwood, which to her nose smells like creamy wood and honey, crystals hang from string on the ceiling and white cloth lounges over the toilet. Komaru kneels on one side of the toilet and Kyouko seats herself opposite.

“So what have you got for me?” asks Komaru.

She watches Kyouko reach behind her head. After some fiddling, the black ribbon decorating the top of Kyouko’s ponytail unravels, and Kyouko passes it to Komaru, who puts it between them.

They join hands. Kyouko’s gloves are smoother than they look, like skin but without the sweat, and though her grip isn’t hard, it’s undeniably there. 

Komaru waits. She waits for that inevitable shiver, of icicles stumbling across her skin, but whenever her stomach rolls, it’s due to nerves, and the only thing that crawls over her are seconds. Minutes. Kijou took a while to materialise, but not this long.

“I don’t get it,” says Komaru softly, like a wisp of smoke.

“Is something wrong, Komaru?” asks Kyouko.

“They’re not here,” says Komaru. 

“Does this happen a lot?”

“This rarely happens,” says Komaru, and Kyouko gives a small tilt of her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Kyouko. “The person who gave me this ribbon may not even be dead, so that might be why they’re not appearing to you.”

Komaru locks eyes with Kyouko. “Huh?”

Kyouko smiles sadly. Her eyes have more emotion than her mouth. Candlelight gives her face more contrast. “My friend went missing when I was a child. I’m not doubting your abilities. Togami-kun even conceded that you possessed a sixth sense, and he can be very stubborn. Often annoyingly so.”

Another time, Komaru might have snorted and nodded.

“Maybe your friend is alive then?” Komaru suggests instead.

“Maybe,” says Kyouko, and Komaru’s shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry,” Komaru replies in a small voice, but Kyouko looks stern.

“Please, don’t be. What you have is a gift, not an obligation,” Kyouko assures her. “So tell me... how long have you been able to do this?”

“As long as I remember,” Komaru says, still wilting. “We had a dog, and he died one day, but I didn’t realise for ages. Until Makoto pointed it out to me, actually.”

“I see. Are they clear in your vision? The ghosts. How clearly do they speak?”

“Um, it varies how clear they look, but lately, they’ve been quite formless, and I don’t hear them as such... maybe because I’m summoning them from the other side, but yeah, and I feel chills, and I sort of just know what they’re saying. Like psychic and stuff. Sorry, I don’t really understand how it works... I thought Hagakure-san might be able to tell me, but he can’t really talk to ghosts.”

‘Really’ is much too lenient, honestly. He can’t talk to ghosts at all. Kyouko sucks in her cheeks. Her lips quiver, like she’s trying not to sigh or like she’s trying not to laugh. Which one, Komaru isn’t too sure. For all she knows, it’s both. She thinks it’s both.

“So your friend,” says Komaru. “Um... It must be disappointing that you didn’t get to talk to them again, but I could provide an ear?”

Kyouko doesn’t meet Komaru’s eyes. Time clicks by like heels on varnished floor. Finally, she makes eye contact.

“Her name is Yui Samidare,” says Kyouko.

* * *

 

Komaru studies the photograph on the toilet. Someone knocks. She reaches forward to pick it up.

“Who is it?” she asks.

“It’s me,” says Makoto, and she retracts her hand without hiding the photograph.

He comes in, smiling, and when he spots the photograph, his lips freeze in place but his eyes snuff out like an extinguished candle.

“Any luck yet?” he says.

She follows his gaze, lays her eyes on the photograph again and tenses her hands on her lap. 

“No,” she says. “Kyouko-chan’s friend didn’t appear either though, and she mentioned that her friend might not be dead. Maybe that’s the case here? Maybe the footage I saw... wasn’t really them?”

“Maybe,” echoes Makoto, and he places his hand on her shoulder, and for a while, in silence, they study the photograph of their parents.

**Author's Note:**

> The premise of this fic came to me randomly idk.


End file.
